The Luckiest Sword Alive: Unto the Sea of Embers, July 1015
Part 1 The vaulted ceilings of the Great Hall of Autumn City swam with the golden sunlight of Arn. Buzzing insects and flowing water made the echoes of the chamber sound as unto a choir. Volgin hated the noise. “My Lords, the people are in uproar,” he said. He faced the Three Consuls of Arn, their golden thrones tall and strong before him. He was not afraid of them. “The Slave Masters have no control any longer,” he continued. “Sightings of undead grow by the day!” “We know well of the unrest, Volgin; the efforts of the Imperious have done little to stem the tide of riot,” Freya said first, her thick black hair woven into intricate designs about her waist. “And yet you sit here on your Autumn thrones with naught but complacency as your subjects tear themselves apart. Autumn City runs red with the blood of princes and peasants alike; the countryside reels as farmers take up arms in this ‘holy war’. Where are your armies? Where are the soldiers to rout this rebellion? I return from my conquests in the Serpent’s Valley only to find my beloved country torn apart by – by a little girl?” “Do not speak to us in such a feckless manner, Volgin,” Froig spat, “lest your fingers be unable to count past nine.” Froig was similar in face to his sister Freya but intense in his demeanor. He was every bit spiteful as she was calm. Volgin was unrelenting, “Passivity is the way of being undone.” “And what would you have us do, Commander?” Freya asked. “Every attempt to quell the resistance has been met with harsh retribution; our slaves are fleeing in droves and our Imperious continually lose their lives in an honorable but ultimately futile attempt to capture the Prophetess.” “How can this be?” Volgin asked. “The Prophetess Lidiya is guarded by secrecy and steel. Her whereabouts are never known to us for more than a day before she disappears beneath the eyes of our informants. When we do manage to confront her, the combined might of her soldiers as well as the Luckiest Sword prove too much a match for even our strongest knights.” “At this point,” Froig added, “It is simply better to allow them to take what they will and leave Arn. We will not risk more lives and resources trying to stop the tide.” “… Do my Lords believe in the Godswalk?” Volgin asked. “…Do you believe that Lidiya is…” “Mortal,” Tyr said, breaking his silence. “Whatever one believes, the one uniting factor is that if an arrow should find her head she will die.” “My Lords,” came the cry from the doorways, “the city is in uproar: Lidiya has revealed herself and is rallying supporters to her! Nex Belain is making for the harbor!” ……… Earlier that day… “A rather quaint place to meet, my Lordess…” Nex said, the cellar he now found himself in lit by several candles. Though the light shown bright outside, the thick oaken walls made the hall before him feel like eternal night. “Yes, well,” Lidiya said, sitting at a small table with battle plans in hand. “I find the dark suits me.” “Very well,” Nex said, plopping his arse into the seat across from her. “Let us talk strategy, then. My vote is we stab them with our swords; seems to work for me most of the time.” Lidiya laughed. “Yes, I imagine it would…” Her face fell into a trancelike sadness, and tears of blood began to flow from her face. “Here,” Nex said, unalarmed at her peculiar habit. “Let me clean you…” “Please, Nex, just let it flow. There is no point: I cry so often it would be as to mopping a dirt path.” Nex sat in silence, watching his young prophetess struggle with her unique sadness. “The worst thing about this form,” Lidiya said, her pain giving way to recollection, “is that I do not know how long it has been mine. My name has always been Lidiya, from my birth I was raised as such. I was a happy girl, smart and full of life. My parents, Agin and Fiona Winya, were the greatest parents I could have wished for. Then, something changed: when I was seven I awoke one dusky morning and knew that I was different; I knew things. Things I could have had no way of knowing. I had visions and memories of places that defied description; astounding architecture and impossible geometry beset by magic unchained. It was the most real thing I had ever known, that I was, in fact, something more.” “And yet you are saddened?” Nex said, his body sloping towards her in interest. “Upon my waking I found both great joy and great sorrow; my first conscious thoughts were of the life of a young girl; every terrible thing, every sorrow and pain she had ever felt, came flooding into me. It was new and yet familiar. It was the worst pain beyond imagination. I then realized I knew this girl. Through the fog of sorrow and blood-drenched eyes, I saw it was my own form. I was crying for myself.” “But Unquala weeps only for those who have passed,” Nex pondered. “No two souls can occupy the same body at once, Nex Belain. Unquala’s soul rested within this form since her birth; only upon her maturity to her seventh year did it manifest. My first victim of this terrible sojourn was Lidiya Winya, and I stole her form to complete my tasks.” There was a devout silence between the two souls. Darkness descended upon the room as the pair reflected on their journey ahead and the trials the two of them now faced. “Nex, tell me. Do you truly believe I am the Goddess of Death?” “I have seen more than any man’s share of the divine; you have the touch, the stench of Veil upon you. The fact that you literally bleed from your eyes is also somewhat… interesting.” She laughed, “Yes, I would imagine as much. I would, if it pleases you my lord, like to ask: who are you really?” “Truly an astounding question! One that warrants a drink before my lips let loose.” “No ruse, no joking. If you are to be my champion, you must share your soul to me.” Nex Belain scoffed, “And what, Lidiya, would warrant my unconditional surrender of my innermost mysteries? The last god who asked so profound a demand at least had the decency to provide a service for me first. Is my sword not enough?” “My soldiers look to you as a symbol, one perhaps as important as me. This may not be Lidiya’s journey alone after all, but rather, the journey of Death and Luck; Lidiya and Nex. If I am to entrust my soldier’s lives to you, my life to you, then I need to know who you really are.” “Nex Belain never works for free, my little Deity. Provide me… knowledge, and I will do the same.” “Then what would you know of me?” Nex Belain began to unfasten the large buckle on his chest. The sword on his back, bound in bandages and whispering foul things under its breath, fell to the floor with thunderous mockery of the divine. Nex exhumed the blade from its tender prison and held it aloft before the tiny prophetess. “Tell me: Tell me what this tool is wrought from and for what purpose its edge made so?” Lidiya studied the weapon as carefully as a scholar reads between the lines of The Sojourn; she seemed sick before it. Slowly her eyes began to bleed, crimson tears flowing down her cheeks and dripping to the floor. “This is Malek’Reth,” she whispered. “Yes, I know that much,” Nex replied. “And it is my terrible burden.” “Why do you carry such a weapon?” Lidiya asked; there was deep dread and concern for her Champion etched into her young face. She had been dwelling on this subject since their meeting. She had seen Nex carry the weapon, never leaving it alone or unwatched; the sword was never used in battle, however. Not once. It weighed on him. “Is that your question, my liege? Or do you wish to save your ponderings for something else?” “Hm, I will wait on my question, then.” She winced and studied the sword again. “This weapon is old, Nex; older than any of the kingdoms of Lancerus. In truth, this blade is older than Man itself.” “How many years? How many generations?” “This blade was forged during the Second Age and found use in the Black War of Falfir, some several thousand years ago. I can feel the pain seeped inside this weapon.” “Then it is a weapon of…” “Evil. As I am sure you had already known. This was the weapon of a Forsaken, a profane blight on the creation of The Seven and the natural order. A great leader or warrior in the armies of darkness wielded this weapon to wreak terror and sow murder.” “Then it is as I suspected, though it is somewhat relieving to have a name for the monsters that birthed this blade. Tell me, is there any way I can lay this weapon to rest? Hide it away or even destroy it so that no other falls victim to its yearnings?” “I am afraid I do not know, my Champion. Much of my knowledge was left behind in the Veil when I assumed my mortal form. It is rather terrifying, honestly, believing that you are supposed to know so much and yet be left empty. Now, for ''my ''question: The world knows of Nex Belain, the God-Touched soldier of fortune. What of your life before? Who were you then?” Nex hummed a solemn laugh, one of pity and remembrance. “It is a long tale, one of great joy and profound sadness.” Lidiya stood up, motioned for Nex to wait, and left the dark chamber. She returned shortly thereafter with a large bottle of wine and a wooden cup of water for herself. “I figured,” she said cooingly, “that If you are going to divulge, I can at least offer you some wine first, as long as you follow through.” “Ah, you know me well already. Like a sister I never had-” Nex stopped, his eyes flooding with brief horror; he downed his squall of emotion in the bottle of wine, resuming his story. “Long ago, I was not Nex Belain. In my youth I was known as Nex, son of Toka and Kaha, Spawn of Strength and Child of the Mountain. Shorthand, Nex of Rakau. I was strong, I was brave, I was stupid…” Part 2 Horns blew, fires were lit: Lidiya was on the move. The Imperious were swift to attend the scene of upheaval; the harbor of Autumn City now rampant with devotees of Death, Nex Belain helming their march. “Halt and go no further, son of Arn!” Echoed the cry from behind Imperious lines. Volgin Dahmash stepped forward, his golden armor indicative of his status. “I am no son of Arn,” came the reply. Nex Belain, robed in red and black, stood fast before the line. Behind him some 200 soldiers, armed with blade and bow, ready to make proud their chosen prophetess. Somewhere within their ranks hid Lidiya, her resolution infecting her soldiers with strength. “You are Nex Belain, I take it?” Volgin asked. “The Luckiest Sword at your service, my golden-clad friend. Now, if you will excuse us, we have need of some of your water-craft vessels.” “Ships?” “Ah yes, ships. Preferably as many as you can spare, and provisions as well. My men eat well, after all, and the voyage to Larkenvale, all things considered, a long one.” “You are not leader here, Belain; where is the Prophetess?” “Oh, you know, why don’t we look together? She’s fairly short so when I set her down she vanished in the sea of bloodthirsty soldiers behind me. “This is no time for games, Nex Belain. She is wanted by the Lord Council for questioning “And what, pray tell, is her crime? Freeing slaves? Defying your broken laws and archaic, malignant traditions? “Magic; forbidden under the sacred laws of Arn and any other country of the West. Your Prophetess has blatantly acknowledged her misuse of the most evil of arts and must therefore be punished accordingly. “Death, I would imagine? “Burned alive, as any heretic would be.” Nex roared with laughter, “You would put the Goddess of Death… to death? Might as well play dice against me friend: you’ll lose either way, but your head stays with you after a bad game of dice. Volgin drew his scimitar, his Imperious brandishing their spears in echo. Their great shields of golden oak laid bare their disdain of the mob before them; they, too, readied their weapons for war. “Volgin,” came the cry from behind. “Stand down!” Volgin turned his gaze beyond Nex to see the girl Lidiya; she appeared to float, some 30 paces behind Belain, perched atop the heads of her devout. “Before you stands the army of Death. Make way and your city will not suffer. Stand before us, and you will be as a tiny flame before a mighty black wave.” “This flame,” Volgin said, raising his spear, “will burn your ocean dry!” The Imperious rushed, their heavy armor and thick shields as a great moving wall before the rebels. “That statement didn’t even make sense…” Nex whispered. He joined the fray and became lost in the sea of war. ……… The battle raged, the rebels continuously pushing the Imperious further and deeper into the city. Nex had broken away and governed his soldiers from the rooftops, occasionally dropping below for some bloodletting of his own. As he dropped below to drive his twin swords into the neck of an Imperious, he turned to see Volgin’s platoon staring him down. “Soldiers!” Roared Volgin. “Slay the Luckiest Sword! Make him bleed for his betrayal of our laws!” “Well, shit,” Nex said, scurrying up the nearby scaffolding to the roof above, the scaffolding breaking under the heavy weight of the armored soldiers that attempted to follow. Imperious flowed below him like an angry river, trying their best to slice at his ankles with long spears and arrows. Nex jumped, roof to roof, drawing the ire of the main battalion of the Arnish Elite. “What do you call an Imperious with shit aim and no balls?” Nex cried aloud. “An Inferious!” An arrow whizzed past his ear, the soldiers below screaming for blood. “Ah, didn’t like that one I see. Alright,” Nex said, throwing his swords into their scabbards and exchanging them for a bow, hidden prior to the battle for his use. He procured an arrow and dipped it into a small vat of oil, all the while taking cover from the barrage of enemy projectiles flying towards him. He lit the arrow and stood, sights aimed at a pylon of wood across the square; it was mounted upon the bell tower (of which the Old Bell had been removed long ago), and soaked in oil. “What did the mommy Imperious say to the baby Imperious when she put him to bed?” He fired the arrow, the mark found; they pile of wood lit up like a phoenix. Lidiyan rebels, armed with bow and rock and javelin, appeared from behind the cover of the Autumn City skyline and looked down upon the Imperious after seeing their signal to attack. Nex smiled. “Knighty knight.” Chaos reigned; the iron-clad soldiers were bombarded from all sides. Nex took pleasure in his strategy and made closer to the docks, keeping an ever watchful eye on the secret group of rebels escorting Lidiya through to the harbor. Already his soldiers would have secured several ships, the Imperious blind to his plan. “Belain!” Shouted Volgin from below. “You would desecrate your home, your country, in the name of some brat who claims divinity and practices heresy?” “This is not my home, Volgin. Even if it was, I think it would be about time to reevaluate the decorum of this soiled town… I understand the ‘gold’ theme, but everything rather looks like someone just let the town drunk piss on all the walls.” “You were not born here, it is true, but are these people not your friends? Your family? Why have you forsaken them for such a lost cause as this?” Nex threw down his bow and drew his swords. “Any cause I belong to is never lost, Volgin. And yes, the people of these lands know me, love me, and I them. Tell me; if your Imperious were given the choice to leave their posts and fight alongside me, how many would stay? The rebels who rise against you; they are my family. It matters not where I am, simply who is with me.” Nex spun around, making to leave. “You are a coward! Come now and fight me, let me taste the mettle of the Southern Cobra! Prove to me your cause is just!” “Well, Volgin, I would love to, but as I’m sure you may well be aware, discretion is the better part of valor; therefore, fare thee well!” Nex disappeared beyond Volgin’s vision and plummeted into a dark alley behind him. Horns blew in the distance; Nex knew Lidiya was close to the ships, and it was time for his forces to pull towards them as well. Nex emerged from the alleyway into a hailstorm of arrows; the roof above him collapsed, smothering him but stopping the arrows. “Love you too, Tira,” Nex whispered as he kissed the air. He jumped from the thatched debris and spun into the enemy, his twin swords thirsty for throats, hearts and heels. One by one the soldiers before him fell, Nex’s allies quick to bolster his unrelenting advance. “Lord Nex!” Garradir, the Darkmoon ally, called from behind a throng of advancing Imperious. “Ah, Garradir, thank the Seven. I was beginning to think you were going to miss this! What a melee!” “Lidiya has need of you; Imperious are burning the ships!” “So,” Nex said, plunging his sword into the throat of a poorly-armored soldier. “They plan on stranding us here. Garradir, take the southern push; I’ll make sure our boats stay un-disintegrated.” Nex jumped upon the shoulders of the advancing foes and launched from their bodies to the rooftops above. With the speed of demons he flew over the architecture of the city until he saw the blazing effigy of hope before him; one ship was already set to the torch. Three ships of note remained: two Arnish merchant Galleons, and one Royal Arnish Brig. Lidiya, her well-armed platoon surrounding her like a curtain of spears, was now boarding the central ship, one of the Galleons. There, before the mass of dead bodies, Imperious began to advance. “Soldiers!” Nex screamed, his allies harkening to his charisma. “To the Prophetess!” “To the Prophetess!” They roared in return. Nex soared above the crowd below and melded into the sea of battle before him. As quickly as he slid into the fray so too did he remove himself safely back into allied lines on the other side, Lidiya’s worries abated. “Thank you,” she said to him, wiping sweat from his brow. “Oh it was nothing, I’m just glad I’m still adept at sliding into tight places.” She winced at his humor, “We need the Brig, Nex. The Galleons have a powerful ballistae broadside but sailing close-hauled is suicide. Unless the wind is with us for the entire journey, any vessel with a crew of 20 or more could rip our hulls to shreds. The Brig’s versatility at all points of sailing is essential and can keep our Galleons guarded, even when sailing Beam Reach.” “I have no idea what any of that means but I will do whatever you ask, you magnificent little goddess. Soldiers! Those who wish to earn the favor of a goddess will do well to bring your valor with me and claim the Brig!” Nex and several dozen soldiers pushed out to the ranks of attack, ready to claim the spoils of victory. They stopped: before their eyes was a sea of dead bodies, some several hundred men. Beyond that a line of ballistae made ready to fire, Volgin at their helm. “Nex Belain,” he said. The clamber of combat died to a whisper as the eyes of the storm loomed around them. “I give you one more chance; lay down your arms and surrender the heretic girl. Do so and your lives will be spared. Refuse, and you will be penetrated by ballistae missile so hard you vomit out your spines.” “I didn’t realize it was that kind of battle, Volgin,” Nex said with a wink. “Perhaps you should buy me a drink, then we can talk about penetration.” Volgin smiled. “You had your chance.” As Volgin gave the order, a stir arose from the throngs of cadavers. As the ballistae fired in unison, their colossal bolts made contact: not with the living, but with the dead. Husks, bodies of the dead, rose before the Imperious. Rebels, Arnish elite, and all dead in between now found purpose again at the hands of the prophetess. Nex, awestruck, turned behind him to see Lidiya at the helm of her ship. Her eyes bled like geysers and her arms stretched before her like scepters of desecration. “You will have your death, Volgin!” She cried. “And it will have you.” The undead, their eyes stained with blood and fog, marched upon the ballistae. The Imperious routed and broke rank, fleeing for their lives as the soldiers of Death herself made for vengeance. “This is…” Volgin stammered. “Lidiya!” Nex screamed, “the Brig is unguarded; load the survivors! The day is ours!” Part 3 The Council chamber was profoundly empty, Foig and Tyr absent to attend to the squalor that was once City Square. Freya and Volgin remained, the latter nursing painful wounds. The two stood before a large oaken table, a map of the city thrown open before them. Marks of massacre adorned its pages. “I told you,” Volgin said. “We were too passive.” “Perhaps we could have chased them if your soldiers had not set one of our own ships ablaze,” Freya said with a smirk. She knew it untrue, as even a fully crewed Galleon would be no hope for Lidiya’s small fleet. She would rather see Volgin suffer. She did not even understand why. “Lord Freya,” Volgin said with a wince. “What are we to do?” “A question for the ages, Volgin. How many soldiers strong is Lidiya’s army?” “We estimate some 300 healthy men and over 400 dead ones now sail under the flag of the heretic.” “Dead men?” “You saw the reports, my liege…” “Yes,” Freya lamented. “There can be no denying her divinity any longer; if anything, we escaped this rather unscathed.” “Unscathed? Three legions of Imperious are in ruin and seven more are in ill-humors. We are absolutely scathed.” “What would you have us do then, Commander?” She twisted an ornate knife around in the center of the map, a small hole tearing its way through the parchment and into the wood below. “Sail to Larkenvale and send ravens ahead of us with word of the coming storm. We can still…” “You fool,” she said, cutting him off. “We have more important things to worry about; the prophetess is gone, and more importantly, well removed from our jurisdiction. She is no longer our problem.” Volgin paused. “What other things do we have to worry about, your grace?” Freya shifted uneasily, her weight seemingly doubled as her brain roared with worried energy. “Volgin, what do you know of The Forsaken?” Previous Chapter The Little Deity, June 12, 1014 Next Chapter Sunrise, November 1015 Category:World Lore